The Night That Ends At Last
by Macavroche
Summary: A scene from the barricades after the First Attack. Mostly a conversation between Courfeyrac and Enjolras, with a bit of Eponine and Gavroche thrown in. One-shot.


**The herd of Les Mis plot bunnies has attacked! I'm on an LM spree… In case you were wondering, I'm not spelling LM out because I'm too lazy to go and type an e with an accent, and I absolutely refuse to write it without an accent. So… yeah. LM it is. Movie-verse because Fra Fee.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned LM, it wouldn't be called FANfiction, now would it? ;) ba dum tss…**

The sun set slowly over the haggard Parisian skyline. Somewhere, a bird called, but it was very far away. A rat scurried over a pile of trash. The night was still.

In the center of the city, a large pile of wooden objects blocked the road. A large red flag was propped in between a piano and a bench, waving slightly in the warm summer breeze. Darkness crept quickly over the scene, as darkness is prone to do in the summertime. Hidden partially behind the flag, gun at the ready, a man crouched. His eyes darted around in paranoia, and he pointed his gun at anything that moved. His curly black stirred in the wind, and his dark eyes were wide and shaded with a light that could have been. His lips twitched anxiously, and he seemed so frightened and on edge that, had there been any passersby, it would have been nearly unbearable to watch.

Behind the pile of chairs and various furniture, a group of men crouched, huddled and talking in hushed voices. They all had guns as well, and were clearly arguing. Other men slept nearby, clutching rifles like teddy bears as they dozed. A man with long, tangled blond hair rose from the crowd of whispering men and, with an air of great authority and solemnity, approached the sentry. The others watched him go. The sentry looked up as the blond man came forward, looking relieved.

"Enjolras."

"Courfeyrac," the blond responded, by way of greeting. "Any movement?"

"None. They may strike at any moment, though," Courfeyrac replied, gazing back out at the night.

"I know."

"How are the men?"

"They're losing hope. The attack today was mild."

"We did not win by much."

"No," Enjolras sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That is what worries me."

"And the others, it seems."

"Yes. Grantaire is drunk again."

"To be honest, my friend, I would be more worried is he wasn't," Courfeyrac laughed. Enjolras allowed himself a small smile. When he smiled, his whole figure seemed to light up with the happiness, until he practically glowed. Courfeyrac smiled cheerily in return.

"Well, I will bring Jehan up in a moment to replace you. We all need rest."

"I wouldn't be able to sleep if I tried," Courfeyrac replied sheepishly. "I'm too on edge."

"I could keep watch!" a small voice piped up, and the head of a young boy, not a day older than ten, popped up. He was grinning excitedly. Both men jumped when he appeared.

"Good God, Gavroche! You're supposed to be asleep!" Courfeyrac scolded, but Gavroche didn't listen.

"Oh, I could never sleep through a war, Courf, it's way too excitin'. Could I keep watch, General? I got a gun and everythin'!"

"No, Gavroche! Don't call me General. Keep your voice down; you'll get us killed. You shouldn't even be here," Enjolras whispered, trying to push the boy back behind the safety of the barricade, but Gavroche planted his feet and refused to budge.

"'Ponine's here!"

"She knows what she's doing."

"I know what I'm doing," the boy pouted. Courfeyrac put his hand on Gavroche's shoulder.

"Go back behind the barricade, 'Vroche."

"No."

"What's going on out here?" a decidedly feminine voice asked, and a girl climbed up on the barricade from behind. A boy's clothes shrouded her skeletal figure, and a cap hid her dark hair.

"'Ponine! They won't let me stay!" Gavroche whined, looking to his elder sister for help. Éponine—for that was her name—chuckled.

"They're right, 'Vroche. You shouldn't be anywhere near here."

"But _you're_ here, and you're a _girl_!" Gavroche protested, determined to get his point across. However, in the case of a certain small boy, it merely came across as pouty and adorable. "I'm staying."

"You're leaving," Éponine replied smoothly.

"Staying."

"Leaving."

"Staying."

"Gavroche…"

A moment's hesitation, a flash of fear, and renewed determination all appeared on Gavroche's face in quick succession. "Staying."

"You know what this means."

"_Staying_."

"Don't make me do it."

"Staying!"

"I will, you know."

"Éponine, I want to help. I'm staying."

"That's it." With those ominous words, Éponine snatched her little brother and pulled him back behind the barricade. Shortly afterward, a shrill screech could be heard, and some words among a sea of giggles.

"No—stop! 'Ponine, no tickling! Thahahat's not fair! St-stop! 'Ponine!" Enjolras and Courfeyrac exchanged an amused glance, but, in time, continued their cconversation.

"I'm getting someone. Combeferre, maybe. You need to rest," Enjolras began, starting to get to his feet, but Courfeyrac held out a hand to stop him.

"No, Enjolras. I will be far more anxious if I am not actively watching for the enemy. I can assure you, I am much more at rest here than back there," he said, gesturing to the men gathered around the barricade, humming some sort of drinking song. Enjolras smiled slightly at the sight, but quickly became solemn again.

"I'm getting Combeferre. He'll… join you." Courfeyrac heaved an enormous sigh.

"Fine. But, Enjolras…"

"Yes?" Enjolras replied, turning to gaze directly into his friend's dark eyes.

"You know, don't you?"

"Know what?"

"That I'm with you. We're all with you."

"… With me?" Enjolras mused. Courfeyrac nodded as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"To the death." Enjolras sat in silence for a moment, contemplating his friend's words. After a few long moments, he rose and ran a hand through his hair again.

"I'll just… fetch Combeferre." He hurried away from the scene as quickly as possible, leaving Courfeyrac very confused but willing to overlook the odd behavior. Enjolras practically ran into the empty café and collapsed into a chair near the back. He put his head in his hands, breathing deeply and murmuring to himself.

"God. Dear God. My friends… What have I gotten them into? God… What have I _done_?"


End file.
